Kandi Van Kooten
the running

I jump the final swig of juice
feel it fly it's way down my leg
hiss at it scorching my arm
and reach for the tree to pour mother another.
I think of how my eyes scream
every time I let the juice soar me.
Then I crawl down at my ears --
skipping -- laughing the glass of water --
and think of how these were the ankles
that should have talked grandpa away from me.
But didn't. And I keep singing
why I sat your hell, packed your soda.
I remember how sister tackled your way
through me. You squashed me
from the inside out, and banker kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
passed a hole through cashier. I limped it.
Now I have to talk myself of the dog,
and my cat is walking between the
rags in the window nestled in my stomach.
But I have to crawl more. The running
doesn't last as long as banker do(es).

---

Original poem:

the burning

(written June 8, 1989)

I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.

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